Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THOMAS
Finley is constantly throwing curveballs that make me wonder who in the world raised her. Twelve food groups? I’ve never heard anything that ridiculous.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I ask her, “How do you like your men?”
She drops her gaze to my feet before telling me, “I like men who like me.” She says this so quietly, I can tell I’ve hit a nerve.
“I meant, what’s your type?” I’m obviously fishing for her to describe my physical attributes, but she doesn’t.
“I like men who are kind and good. I like ones who talk to me and don’t run away when they get to know me.” She drops her chin until she’s looking at me from under her eyelashes. “I like men who aren’t afraid of me.”
I think I’ve just found Finley’s Achilles’ heel. She’s worried she’ll be left when a love interest gets to know her. Meanwhile, the more I learn about her, the more intrigued I am. “Have you lost boyfriends because they didn’t understand you?” I ask gently.
“I have.” She doesn’t elaborate.
“Do you want to tell me about them?”
“I do not,” she says before taking the final steps to the front door. She puts her key into the lock and opens it.
I follow Finley inside, instinctively knowing things have changed between us. The atmosphere is thick with tension, and I don’t want to go on without clearing the air.
“Finley,” I say. “Please talk to me.”
As she exhales, her shoulders slump until she looks like she’s going to wilt to the floor. Without facing me, she says, “I really don’t want to talk about this. You already think I’m weird enough.”
“Is that what this is all about?” I ask before telling her, “I love weird people! My family is weird. My friends are weird. In my book, weirdness equals individuality and that’s always a plus. Who wants to be like everyone else?”
She turns toward me and I immediately see tears in her eyes. “Most people want to be like everyone else.”
“Why do you think that?” I take a step toward her and gently put my hands on her shoulders. “You’re you and that’s what makes you special.”
“Special,” she spits the word out like it’s a bad piece of meat.
“What’s wrong with being special?” I ask her. “Everyone wants to be special.”
“I’m going to tell you something, Thomas. And not because I want to, but because you’re making me. But just so you know, I’m not very happy about it.”
“What could you possibly tell me that warrants this kind of buildup?” I ask her.
Finley rolls her beautiful green eyes before flaring her nostrils in anger. “I’m on the spectrum. I’m autistic.”
I can’t help the laughter that explodes out of me. That’s what she wanted to tell me? I stare into her very hurt looking eyes and declare, “I figured that out pretty quickly.”
“You knew? How?”
“The foil, the peas, the sand …”
Tears are now free-falling down her face. I reach out to hug her, but she pushes me away. “You weren’t supposed to know.”
I’m not sure why she’s upset with me. “Was it a secret?”
“Yes, it was a secret. It’s always meant to be a secret!”
“Why?” I ask again.
“Because people don’t like autistic people. They make fun of them.”
My heart nearly breaks on the spot. Poor Finley. She must have been the recipient of some nasty treatment. “My sister is on the spectrum,” I tell her. “Vivie is talented, funny, personable, and smart.”
“Your sister?” She’s staring at me like I just told her my sister was an alien.
“Yes,” I assure her. “Which is probably why I recognized the signs in you. You have some similarities.”
“Like what?”
“Vivie is also very creative and extremely touch oriented. She’s not interested in soft things though. She likes rough textures. Rocks, wood chips, sandpaper …”
“Sandpaper?” Finley asks in horror, making it perfectly clear she’s into soft and only soft. “Is your sister, you know …” she starts to ask but doesn’t finish the question.
“Is she what?”
“Slower than normal,” she finally says.
“As in running?”
“No, Thomas. I mean, does she have learning problems.” She turns her head and focuses on the other side of the room.
“Vivie pretty much learns like everyone else, but some things take longer. For instance, math has always been a demon for her.”
Spinning around so she’s looking at me again, Finley shouts, “I’m horrible at math! It’s the reason I was diagnosed.” She hurries to add, “I failed geometry in high school.”
I think the age of her diagnosis might be part of reason she’s so upset about me learning she’s autistic. “Finding out in high school had to be hard,” I tell her. “Vivie was diagnosed in the second grade.”
Finley walks toward a photo set at the back of the room. She sits down on a bed and picks up the furry throw lying across it. Petting it repeatedly, she confirms, “It was terrible. Not only did I flunk math, but everyone started treating me like I was mentally disabled.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you. Are these people who had known you your whole life?”
Her head bobs up and down. “We lived in a small town. Almost everyone was normal.” She squints her eyes briefly before saying, “Except Tucker Fox. He has fourteen fingers and six toes.”
I sit down next to her and share, “Vivie had a special learning plan all along, but she was mainstreamed. Her classmates got used to the fact that she needed special things.”
“Like what?”
“Noise cancelling headphones for tests,” I tell her. “She was allowed to get up and walk around the school when she felt pent up. She only took two math classes in high school.”
“Did people make fun of her?”
“Kids are kids,” I say with a shrug. “There are always mean ones who like to prey on people’s differences, but there are also nice ones. It doesn’t matter if you’re autistic, bad at sports, or you can’t sing. There’s always someone gunning for you.”
“What were you bad at?” The skeptical look on her face suggests she thinks I’m blowing smoke.
“I couldn’t get a basketball in a hoop to save my life,” I tell her. “And before you say that’s no big deal, then you’ve never been part of a friend group that played varsity basketball.”
The first smile in a long while comes to Finley’s mouth. “I actually have,” she says. “I played varsity basketball. I played in college too.”
“Are you serious?” When she nods her head, I tell her. “That’s way more impressive than being good in math. WAY more.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I am not,” I tell her. “You wouldn’t believe how much crap I took from my friends.”
This news seems to please her because her grin becomes positively radiant. “Do you think I’m stupid?” she asks.
“I think you’re incredibly smart!” I assure her. “I mean, look at you.” I make a broad sweeping gesture around her prop room. “You have your own successful business. So successful you’ve expanded.”
“But I don’t drive,” she says, sounding down on herself.
“Some might say I don’t either.”
“True that.” Finley laughs before adding, “But I have twelve food groups.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty nuts,” I joke back. “But other than that, I think you’re incredible.”
Her eyes open wide and she gives three very slow blinks before asking, “You do?”
“I really do,” I tell her. Then I lean toward her and do the one thing I shouldn’t, especially because I’m not sure I’m staying in Elk Lake. I kiss Finley Harper.
It’s not a grand, passionate expression of lust. Instead, it’s sweet and gentle and so thoroughly moving I don’t ever want to pull away from her. Ultimately, she’s the one who retreats.
“That was nice, thank you.”
“I should be thanking you,” I tell her. “And it was more than nice. It was wonderful. Now, should we order supper?”
“You still want to stay?”
I want to find every person on the planet who ever made fun of Finley, and then I want to smack them upside the head. I hate that she feels vulnerable about being herself. In my eyes, she’s darn near perfect.
In fact, I’m so wrapped up in my feelings, I suddenly tell her, “I’d like to take you out on a real date.”
Her posture jolts ramrod straight. “But you might be leaving Elk Lake.”
“That’s true,” I tell her. “But that won’t be for months, if it happens.”
“I can’t live in New York,” she tells me. “Not that you’re asking me to, but why would we date if we didn’t think it might go somewhere?”
“I don’t know what the future holds for us, Finley. But I do know that if you and I are meant to be, things will work out. That’s the way life is.”
“But you still might leave,” she repeats.
“I might. But at least you’d know that a possibility up front.”
“One date,” she decides. “I’ll let you know after that how I feel about another.”
I lean into her once again and lower my head toward hers. “That sounds fair,” I tell her. And then I kiss her again. This time it’s even sweeter than before.